


You Got the True Legs

by 264feet



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Storyshift, Gen, Selectively Mute Frisk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 17:45:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8410750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/264feet/pseuds/264feet
Summary: The third time you've put on this grand show, in New Home, your 'director' gives you a new command.
*Cut them off.





	

You will not deny that it's been for fun. It happens, time and time again. You fall. You kill. You die. Chara stops you dead in your tracks. You restart, hoping to find some weakness, but it's as if they never sleep, never let down their guard. The third time you've put on this grand show, in New Home, your 'director' gives you a new command.

_  
*Cut them off._

Their voice sounds... unpleasant, for the first time. At first, it was so clear that they were on board with this plan. The King has given up collecting souls in all but name-- the first time you see the other human, it was clear to you that these old fools were rotting down here, waiting to die. What stopped you from giving them the show of their lives?  
  
And now here you are, sweat on your brow, adrenaline pumping in your veins, more alive than you've ever been. Their voice is terse.  
  
_*After I died, there was a plan to 'reconstruct' me. To build my soul a new body. They worked fast. You'll find the only complete part in the box._  
  
As much as you look at the other items in the bedroom, they give you such dull explanations. The bed-- _*my bed._ The other one-- _*their bed._ The stacks of CDs, the pages of sheet music and the old worn posters of human movie stars-- no response.    
  
You open the box. Sure enough, there's a collection of parts. A scrapped plate that looked like a torso. Some kind of wire that could become arms. You find them underneath the rest-- two legs. They were in such a rush, they didn't bother to construct separate feet and the like; the legs trail down to a pair of built-in boots.  
  
_*You will not win if you do not make some... modifications. They are faster than you. You cannot hit them even once. Cut off your legs._  
  
A toolbox lays half-open near the parts. A wrench, a hammer, and sure enough, a hacksaw. You consider your legs. They're tired, sore, bruised; your feet are blistered, your toes broken. They limit you.  
  
And yet...  
  
_*Darling. Have I not helped you get this far?  
_  
A sheet covers the vanity. You turn to it, hoping to stall them, but they offer no comment again. You rip off the sheet with aplomb, striking a pose-- nothing. You see not your own face in the mirror, as you expected, but theirs. They smile.  
  
_*You don't need them._  
  
For the first time since you started this, you feel... off. Humanity was a bitter race; you've known this since you could first understand that your father was hitting you just because he hated you. Humanity was meant to destroy; you've known this since you grew up reading about the war against monsters. Humanity hurt to entertain; violence dug its claws into every game, every play, every song. Since Cain slayed Abel, humans found more and more extravagant ways to kill others, even to their own detriment-- suicide bombings, systematic extermination of a people, nuclear war.  
  
But for some reason, it never occured to you that all shows had to end. Eventually, you'd run out of monsters to kill. Eventually, you'd be alone in the Underground. And when you asked your friend for the next victim, the face in the mirror would always be looking back at you.  
  
_*Chara is a creature of hate,_ they say. _*They are a human. No matter how relaxed they seem and no matter how much they hide their pain with jokes, they will never tire of killing you. That is simply their role. They will kill you again and again and again._  
  
You eye the saw. They read your mind-- they are your mind, in a sense, the spotlight that guides you to your next target.  
  
_*'The pain', you may be saying. Don't make me laugh. It's just two little legs. How many times did Chara stab you last? 36? 37? It cannot be worse than that._  
  
You turn towards the door instead. As soon as your friend speaks up, you flinch.

_*Don't be stupid, you foolish dog,_ they say. _*Oh, I don't mean offense, darling, but you're hideous. You know it as well as I do. You chose to die by jumping in hopes the impact would splatter you far and wide so nobody would have to see your corpse. Instead, you met me. Aren't you lucky?_

<Y - E - S>, you say in sign language.  
  
You hear a laugh. _*What's the matter? Stage fright?_  
  
You open your mouth to speak, but the words don't come. Words have no power here. Even the best soliloquy, at some point, must be followed by an action.  
  
(It's not so different from their smile, the saw. When you first saw it in the mirror at Papyrus's home, you felt something sever.)  
  
_*It's alright, sweetie. Let me help.  
_  
It's systematic, the way your hands move; you wonder if they've done this before. They tear their bedsheet into strands and tie them tight around your thighs. The circulation comes to a halt just as the world around you does. You hear no birds, hear no settling of the house, smell no old scents that bring forth memories that aren't yours. You're frozen.  
  
You never knew you were born incomplete until you feel the saw in your hands; then, you realize they were made to clench around the handle. The serrated edge kisses your right leg and you shiver as several little rivers of blood race to hit the perfectly-preserved carpet first.  
  
_*Darling,_  
  
you hear, the last thing before you fall mostly unconscious from the pain, your friend taking over,  
  
_*You're going to be so_ **beautiful.**


End file.
